I miss you.

I miss your shiny surface of silver and red and your absolute perfect bottoms. I miss waxing you in winter and I miss your pretty matching poles.

I miss the way my boots snapped into your bindings and your cute little ski brakes.

Oh, god, I miss you a lot.

I miss sharpening your edges, so I could just about cut down a tree with you, if by chance I lost control and skied out of bounds. But we both know that my love for you was so deep and abiding that I would never do that. I skied carefully and always in bounds.

I miss our special little day trips to Mt. Snow in Vermont and even our totally thrilling couple of seasons worth of passes at Hogback. I cried when I had to rent in Flagstaff because 12 inches was simply not enough base for you and I would NEVER take you over rocks. I miss our fanciful winters at Heavenly and Kirkwood in Tahoe.

I am simply apologizing from the bottom of my heart that there is glorious powder in Tahoe and we can't peruse it. Next year, I promise, if there's good snow, I'll ditch the kids somewhere and ski.

Sweet darling skiis, I've gone and had kids. I sold you at a garage sale for $50 to someone who would use you. I swear it was an act of compassion and love. Will you ever forgive me?